


pretty good year

by halo21



Category: Marilyn Manson (Band), Nine Inch Nails (Band), Tori Amos (Musician)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels, Angel/Human Relationships, Depression, Drug Use, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Past Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:33:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25564399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halo21/pseuds/halo21
Summary: "hold on to nothing, as fast as you can.still... A pretty good year."🖤tori's gone. except, she's not.trent's still here. except, he isn't.
Relationships: Trent Reznor & Marilyn Manson, Trent Reznor/Tori Amos
Kudos: 4





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another old fic that I'm importing. I'm actually pretty proud of this one. 
> 
> Title from "Pretty Good Year" by Tori Amos.

Trent had never given much thought to how an angel would look. 

Why would he?

He wasn't quite sure he believed in them, anyhow, -- what kind of fanciful nonsense would that be, endlessly pondering something you aren't sure exists?

But if he were ever to humor the idea, he was certain he wouldn't picture this. 

Bright red hair, devilish. A small, scarcely-curved frame, hardly seeming intimidating, or otherwise inhuman. Just like any other girl he could have met out on the town this evening. 

Anyone he could have taken home, before he got home and sunk to his knees and got wasted. Before he broke the bottle in his hand, dug the glass into his palm.

Funny thing was, there wasn't a woman in his house before then. But now there was. 

She spoke to him in a low, smooth voice, pulling his hand into hers. Too drunk and shocked to stop her, he blinked, listening to how she gently murmured to him, seemingly trying to comfort him. Which made no sense at all.

And yet, however frightening, there was something hypnotic about her voice. Something that almost made him feel safe. 

"Come on, honey," she cooed. "Try to relax a little. You are a real piece of work, aren't you?" 

Before he could even comprehend what was happening, she lifted his bloody knuckles up to her lips, ever-so-slightly brushing them against his skin before pulling away again. He glanced down when she did, only to find that the fresh wound had already closed up. 

It was as if it had never been there at all. 

Trembling, he found himself looking into her eyes, luminous pools of sapphire blue. Otherworldly.

Unnatural.

"What are you?" he asked, shaking voice filled with something both cruel and curious. "Are you some kind of ghost? Sharon? Dammit, I knew I shouldn't have moved into this place--"

She laughed quietly, long, cold fingers brushing lightly against his newly-healed skin. He shivered. 

"I'm not Tate, if that's what you're thinking. Though that is quite the comparison..." She paused, shaking her head full of copper curls. "I'm not quite a ghost at all, really. Why don't you take three guesses of what I could be?"

Still frightened out of his damned mind, Trent shook his head. "I don't know. A succubus?"

She laughed again. "Good God, no. Quite the opposite, actually." 

The woman smiled at him then, look of affection flashing over her face as she brushed her fingertips over another cut. "Two words, Sweetheart. Guardian. Angel."

Those two words just made Trent even dizzier than he already was. 

Of all the people in the world who could have guardian angels, he hardly figured he would be one of them. He was far from devout, in any sense. Hell, he committed so-called 'sins' that many would deem unpardonable on an almost-daily basis. 

There were surely better candidates, he thought. Old people whose minds were going, their bodies withering. Starving kids, sick, lonely, and wide-eyed. People out on window ledges, feeling completely hopeless.

Not some semi-underground rock musician in Los Angeles, high out of his tree with a bleeding hand. 

Head spinning so that his eyes threatened to roll back in his head, he forced out that one word that tormented him: "why?"

The woman giggled. "What kind of question is that?" she asked. "Because you need it, silly!" 

Trent grimaced. He'd think that, if he did have a guardian angel, whatever almighty higher power that was behind it should have at least given him a type of person that he'd like. Not overly jovial, cutesy pixie women who called him things like 'sweetheart' and 'silly.'

"I don't... Need it..." He stammered slightly, his tongue feeling heavy. He was just so tired, and far more intoxicated than he needed to be. "I don't think so, anyway... I mean, I didn't think I was doing too bad."

"Mmm-hmm," the woman hummed flatly. She was still examining his hands.

After a long while of turning his palm over and playing with his fingers, the woman finally looked up to meet his eyes. 

"Tell me, Trent, about this glass," she says. "Did you break it on purpose?"

In that moment, he nearly choked. "W-what?" His voice came out strangled, faint. "N-no... Why would I..."

"Easy," she chastised him gently.

She lifted his hand close to her lips again, brushing them against another small nick.

Trent's face burned.

Once that wound was healed, she pulled away, glaring back up at him. "You can try to explain yourself in the morning. I'll still be here then." 

She smiled at him, seeming so sincerely kind. He swallowed, a lump rising in his throat. 

He couldn't remember the last time someone looked at him like that. It sure as hell didn't happen frequently enough for him to be aware that he missed it. 

While he pondered this, the woman continued to prattle on. "I know you're exhausted, so we best be getting you to bed... Unless you want to eat or drink something first... Might make the hangover a little less miserable..." 

He shook his head. "No," he said, with a surprising amount of decisiveness for someone in his condition. "I definitely think I need to be in bed."

"Alright, then." The woman rose to her feet before holding her hands out to him. "Stand up?" she requested. 

Despite his shaking legs and swirling head, Trent obliged her, taking both of her hands. They were rather cool to the touch, he noted. This was either a convenient coincidence, or all the more evidence of her death, however long ago. 

Though he was a good few inches taller than her, (a rare occurrence with anyone,) Trent leaned on the tiny woman for support as they headed towards his bedroom. Somehow, she seemed to know exactly where to go without being told. 

Once they were finally there, he collapsed back onto the matress rather clumsily. Meanwhile, the woman decided to take it upon herself to untie his boots and toss them aside. After the shoes were discarded, she crawled closer to him, ultimately positioning herself by his side at the edge of the bed. 

Eyelids feeling weighed down, Trent gazed up lazily at the woman's pretty face. "What's your name?" he inquired, voice barely above a hoarse whisper.

The woman smiled, running one of those healing hands of hers through his hair, spread haphazardly across the pillow. "You can call me Tori." 

"Tori." He muttered the name almost dreamily, as if he had escaped the real world for the night already. "And Tori... How do I know that you're real? That you're not just crazy, or... hm... messing with me?"

Though she knew he couldn't see it from behind his now-closed eyes, the angel grinned slyly. "Believe me, honey," she whispered into his ear. "You'll know soon enough. Now, sweet dreams."

It was around that approximate time that Trent passed out, the entire world around him seeming to fade away. 

Tori just held his hand, waiting patiently for daylight to come. 


	2. Chapter 2

Trent wasn't used to this. 

It's one thing to wake up next to someone that you had been intimate with the night before, when you're both worn out and lazy. This had happened quite a few times, -- however, when both of them had awakened, the other party would recognize it as an awkward moment and get out of there as soon as possible, probably never to be heard from again.

That wasn't what had happened here, though. 

For one thing, he hadn't been with anybody in that way the night before. For another, the woman wasn't even still lying in bed with him. 

She had already moved into the kitchen, bringing a fixed plate in just before he opened his eyes. 

"I made you breakfast," she announced proudly.

All the while, all Trent could focus on was the awful pounding in his skull, not to mention the queasy feeling in his stomach. 

Hungover. As predicted. 

He groaned, utterly miserable as he placed a hand against his abdomen.

Tori frowned as she sat down next to him. "Not feeling good?" 

Not feeling much like conversing, Trent shook his head. 

The redhead simply smiled in response, sickly sweet. "Well," she said. "There's something I can do about that. Headache?"

He nodded again. 

"Easy fix." Without warning, she leaned in, pressing a quick kiss against his throbbing temple.

At first, Trent was tempted to recoil, -- he definitely wasn't fond of the fact that Tori's method of pain relief seemed to require so much physical contact. And yet, she was right, -- as soon as she pulled away, the pain was all gone. 

He stared at her, dumbfounded as she offered him a lovely grin in return, eyes sparkling. His face flushed slightly as he absent-mindedly touched his forehead, as if he were looking for some sort of evidence. 

Of what, he didn't know. 

She was obviously magical in some ways, miraculous. There was no other explanation for it. 

Now, she forced the plate of food into his lap, playing the part of some paranormally inclined protective mother. "Eat," she ordered. "It'll make you feel better."

Slightly startled, he did as she asked. 

Once she was seemingly satisfied with his food intake, Tori started asking Trent questions. 

"So," she began. "I hear you're a musician."

Picking a slice of toast apart, Trent shrugged. "I guess," he said, voice containing obvious notes of melancholy. "Last thing I made, I was told it was an abortion, so..." 

Tori whistled lowly. "Lord," she drawled. "That isn't very nice at all, is it?" 

Trent laughed bitterly. "Obviously."

With that, he returned his attention to his food. 

Tori wouldn't allow the silence to settle between them too soon. 

"What kind of music do you make?" she asked.

"Industrial," Trent replied quickly. "Y'know, a bit like metal... But with synthesizers. And samples. Lots of samples." 

"Interesting." Tori stretched across the bed, idly seeming to examine her arm for a moment before speaking again. "I used to be a musician, too."

"Really?" Though slightly muffled by a mouthful of bread, Trent's voice seemed to reflect genuine intrigue. He swallowed the toast. "What did you play?"

Tori smiled, looking wistful. "I was an almost-classically trained pianist," she stated. "I say 'almost' because they could never teach me the sheet music; even after years and years of lessons, I was doing it my own way." 

Trent eyed her, looking somewhat puzzled. "Were you any good?" he finally asked hesitantly. 

Tori chuckled. "Well, I'd like to think so." She turned back to him, giving him a searching look. "Do you think you're any good?" 

Even though she was inadvertently hitting him where it hurt in that very moment, Trent forced a wary smile onto his face. "Yeah. I'd like to think so, too."

"Well..." Tori drew the word out for an awfully long time, leaving him waiting. Finally, she cast her gaze his way with a smile. "Maybe you should show me."

Trent just blinked in response. Though he didn't feel quite so physically ill anymore, it would have appeared that the previous evening's substances had effectively turned his brain to mush. "Show you what?" 

The radiant grin on Tori's face only widened. "Let me hear some of your music, of course," she elaborated. "I figure I'm a perfectly good judge of what is and isn't good, don't you?" 

Once again, Trent felt his face go red. "I, um-- Don't know if my music is really meant for... people like you." 

Tori laughed again. Trent swore that could be music in itself. 

"Oh, please," she said. "I'm an angel, not a nun. There is a difference, believe it or not." Her expression went serious for a moment as she seemed to really consider something. 

Trent noticed that she gnawed at her lip; he was almost tempted to tell her to stop, that her lips were too nice for her to be chewing them. As soon as he proceeded to question why he was thinking sappy shit like that, Tori released her bottom lip to speak again. Of course, her skin was still perfectly smooth, totally unharmed. 

"I... saw so much in my lifetime." She smiled, though something about the expression made her look soft and sad. "No music's gonna shock me, I can assure you." 

Trent grimaced, thought about it for a moment. Finally, he sighed, pushing away the breakfast plate that he had almost cleaned. "Fine," he said, careful not to create the illusion that he was too eager to share his work. He stood up and straightened his clothes, keeping his back turned as he headed towards the stairwell. "Piano or guitar?" 

Tori stood, following him. "A multi-instrumentalist." A slight giggle followed her words. "I'm impressed." 

Trent sighed, blowing a loose lock of dark hair from his face. "Yeah, well... don't get ahead of yourself."

🖤

"What do you think?" Trent eyed Tori anxiously as he lifted the acoustic's strap from over his head, pushing the guitar to the side. He found himself twiddling his thumbs under her appraising gaze, not knowing if the smirk gracing her pretty lips was a sign of approval or pity. "It's definitely a work in progress, so don't be too harsh, please..." 

Tori laughed. "Don't worry," she said. "I'm not gonna rip into you or anything. I'm not my old piano teacher." 

She was quiet for a while, seeming to think. He could see her mind wandering just by the way her eyes looked; bright blue gone icy, what was once focused, now clouded over. Then he realized that he had made more eye contact with her than he had with anyone else in a month, -- even Brian, -- and threatened to blush again. 

Finally, Tori spoke, seemingly as to save him the embarrassment. "I think that it's... very bleak." She cast a pointed look in his direction. "Which is by no means a bad thing, -- we all need to write what we feel sometimes. Even if what we're feeling isn't pretty." She kept glaring at him for a long period of time after that, as if to silently ask if he really did feel that way. 

His eyes simply darted away, avoiding hers. 

He did feel that way, he thought. Sometimes. 

More often than he'd like, that was for certain. 

"I did." The admission came quietly, so that Trent was unsure if he had just imagined it. 

Still, he met her eyes again, and asked: "did what?" 

Tori stared back at him, wide-eyed, eyes full of emotion, simultaneously looking shocked, and so very happy that he had asked. 

"I felt that way," she answered quietly. "And wrote about it, sometimes." 

Trent swore he saw the slight glimmer of a tear in her eye as she looked at him with a curious tilt of her head.

As if he was the interesting one out of the two of them. 

Finally, she seemed to come back from whatever it was that had pulled her under, seeming to have decided something. The sadness vanishing from her face just as soon as it had came, Trent jumped as she suddenly wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close with a surprising amount of strength for someone who was supposedly dead. 

"Well, I don't want you to feel that way again any time soon," she murmured into his ear. "That's why I'm here." 

She pulled away, beaming at him. Despite the shock and slight awkwardness of the situation, Trent felt a sudden surge of affection, cutting all the way through him. 

Awkwardly, he huffed out a chuckle. "Thanks," he said. "That was really nice, Tori." 


	3. Chapter 3

"You have some really bad habits, don't you?"

This question came out of nowhere, travelling at the speed of light from some floating Neverland, only to fall from Tori's lips. With green eyes that surely looked dead, Trent looked up to meet her interrogative blue gaze. 

Not quite knowing what to say, he countered the uncomfortable question with an inquiry of his own. "You have a serious problem with respecting others' boundaries, don't you?"

Tori shrugged, her neutral expression never changing. "Maybe."

With that, she tilted her chin up slightly, smiling as her eyes connected with his, magnet to metal. "Now that I've answered your question, I expect an answer to mine."

Trent sighed, averting his eyes from hers, -- they saw too much. Rather, he turned towards the piano, knowing that when he started at it, the looks it returned were always blank. More and more lately, that instrument seemed to be totally void of expression, meaning, or inspiration. 

Idly, he ran his long, weathered fingers across the ivory keys. "Of course I've got bad habits," he said. Though he intended his voice to sound flat, it came out more gruff. "We all do. Just different ones." 

He winced at the honesty of that statement, staring down at his hands intently as his wounded psyche filled him with enough shame to drown in. "There are all kinds."

"I see," Tori replied. Her voice always seemed to be so level, save for the bird-like lilt that sometimes came at the end of her sentences. "And which ones do you have?"

For a moment, it looked as if Trent wasn't going to reply. He just kept staring down at those shining white keys as if they held all the secrets of the universe, the answers to the prayers that he had long since ruled as futile. What little spark of light he carried in his day-to-day being seemed to flicker out for a moment as his mouth tightened into a straight line and he made his left hand into a fist, firmly digging his fingers into the sleeve of his shirt. 

Finally, he seemed to break away from whatever had pulled him under, if only to offer the perfect excuse to evade her questioning:

"I thought that I only had to answer one question."

♡

Brian Warner wasn't Trent's best friend. 

He didn't have one of those, really; barring his grandmother, all the way back in Pennsylvania, he had never been the type to trust another person with all his secrets, thoughts, and vulnerabilities. It just wasn't safe, especially when you were as distrustful of people as he was. 

Besides, Trent figured it was best to keep his secrets for himself. If he wanted to maintain the most precious facets of his own identity, that would be the smart thing for him to do. 

That did not mean, however, that Brian wasn't a good person to have around. 

In fact, if he had to pick one person to take that done-to-death, arbitrary title, he figured that Brian might be the one to take that prize at the moment. 

Brian was good. He didn't seem to hate Trent's guts too much, and, even if he did, he was at the fledgling stage of his career, just off of the moderate success of his band's first album. If he had to step on his producer's toes, he never did it too hard, if only for the fear of getting booted off of the new record label and losing all contact and mentorship from the man who had once been nothing more to him than his musical hero. 

So Brian respected Trent most of the time, and, most of the time, Trent respected Brian back. 

Maybe that meant that they were only fairweather friends. Still, they were amicable. 

Trent found that was really all that was necessary when it came to the relationships of people like he and Brian. They were compatible, if just barely, and that was enough to make music, tour together, and hang out, talking as they knocked back a few drinks or smoked something that Brian had clumsily rolled up. 

Sometimes, they indulged in things just a bit crazier than that. 

Tonight was one of the crazier nights.

Those had been occurring more and more lately, Trent noted, since he had flown Brian and the Spooky Kids up to LA. That seemed to be one of Brian's most well-honed skills; he knew exactly where to find all things illegal and euphoria-inducing, and he never seemed to get into trouble for it. 

Not that Trent minded this. 

As long as his protegé kept himself out of prison, he figured he might as well reap the rewards. 

He couldn't help the slight grin that turned up his lips as Brian settled into the chair across from his. A set of nervous eyes, -- one dark brown, the other cloudy blue gray beneath a colored contact, -- shifted anxiously about the room for a moment. Seeming to decide that the coast was clear, the younger man reached into the pocket of his leather pants. He came up with a small baggie, which he swiftly pushed across the table towards his mentor. 

"Alright," Brian began, voice barely above a mutter. Not that anyone would be able to hear or understand him in the midst of the bustling party, but Trent appreciated his consideration. "I went out of my way to find the good stuff tonight. Jeordie and Stephen helped, though, so if they want some as compensation, don't throw a bitch fit."

Trent chuckled. "No bitch fits. Got it." Moving the bag into his palm, he looked back up at Brian. "Got a dollar?"

The other man nodded, long black hair falling over his face as he retrieved a bill and handed it over. 

Trent nodded appreciatively. "Thanks, man."

"You're welcome," Brian replied primly. "Now hurry up so I can have some. Don't hog it."

Trent rolled his eyes before doing as he had so politely instructed. 

The act was quick, the burning sensation coming even quicker. By the time he pulled away and lifted his head, the damage had already been done. He was There, that sensation running through his arteries, his head, his heart, his very existence. 

The tinge of guilt was still there, though it wasn't as severe as the last time, and even less than the time before that. 

Maybe he was hurting himself, tarnishing some uncertain part of his indefinitely-long future. 

But what was done was done, and it hadn't killed him this time around. So what would once more hurt?

Brian appeared to have just done as he did, though Trent already felt too far away to acknowledge such an event as it was happening. It was the younger man's voice alone that grounded him. 

"God," he said, sounding dreamy in a way that could only be inflicted by drugs and the brassy women that came a dime-a-dozen in Los Angeles. "Twiggy was right. This is good shit."

Trent could only manage a half-assed giggle in reply. "Yeah," he said, his voice seeming to echo in his own ears. "Really."

Everything seemed to slip further away from there. It wasn't long before Trent felt thoroughly detached from his reality, even if he knew that Jeordie and Stephen had come over at some point to get what Brian had deemed theirs by proxy, and there were people, lots of them, all around him. 

For once, he was in the midst of the sea of beasts rather than above them, thrown in with all the noise and colors as they threatened to trample him. 

Just as long as he stayed this high, it didn't bother him. 

Hence why friends like Brian were good friends to have. 

He was unfortunately brought down to Earth, however, by one particular question from Brian. 

"Jesus," he drawled. "Do you know that redhead, Reznor? She looks pissed."

Trent was just barely to shift his overly-dilated eyes in the direction of the now-parting sea of people, only to find that his guardian angel herself was heading towards the table, determination flashing in her eyes, edged with definite fury. 

Dammit. 

It didn't take long for him to be grabbed by the collar of his jacket and hoisted to his feet as hmif he weighed nothing. He gasped, trying to escape her grip, only to be unsuccessful. Tori just held on tighter, with all the determination of someone hoisting a close friend from the edge of a cliff.

Between his coke-sparked impairment and Tori's unnatural strength, Trent couldn't help but be pulled away from his friends and out the door without any indication as to how Tori got there or what he could do to stay, even if it was just to explain himself. 

Instead, he got pulled along with her, from some seedy musical acquaintance's house back to Le Pig. 

All the while, he tried to fight her off, though every limb connected to him had just about gone limp. He was so high, so terribly far away from Earth, utterly useless. 

And yet, he wasn't too unaware of his surroundings to know that he had started to cry at some point as he struggled. Cry and beg, pleading with his protector to let him go.

"Stop touching me," he said. "Let me go back to Brian. Please."

Resistence seemed to be wholly futile, as Tori didn't say anything until they were already through the door of his house. She closed and locked that door behind them before reaching for Trent once more. "Come on, sweetheart," she chided, voice so infuriatingly calm. "Let's get you calmed down and cleaned up."

Violently, he jerked away. "Don't!"

Once again, those unreal blue eyes filled with sadness. 

Taking note of this, Trent let out a shaky sob. "Don't touch me," he started, voice slurring. "Don't try to save me, Tori. If I'm gonna self destruct, I'm gonna do it; you can't stop me. Nothing can stop me. I don't need you."

Each world seemed to effect the woman like a blow from one's fist would. And yet, he kept going. "I really don't."

And then, against his will, his legs gave way, leaving him collapsing against her with a wholly contridactory sob. Tori simply pulled him to his feet, lovingly placing a hand against the back of his head, bringing him closer to her. 

"It's alright, angel," she said. "I'm here. You just need to make it through the night..."


	4. Chapter 4

Tori knew she was supposed to be the one in charge of this situation. Still, she was scared. 

She'd have to be an idiot, of course, to assume that Trent didn't dabble in some questionable things, what with being smack dab in the middle of the Los Angeles rock scene. He had been evasive enough when she asked him about some of his less-than-admirable qualities a few days before. 

Despite all of this, she wasn't quite prepared for what she had walked in on at that party, or what came afterwards. Just looking into those foggy green eyes gave her the keen, sinking feeling that this was far from the first time he had done something like this. In fact, her intuition told her that it had already long since gotten bad. 

As long as she had been dead, Tori's intuition had never been wrong. 

So she grabbed him by the neck and pulled him out of there, despite his protests and the looks his oddball friends gave her. That one in the dress had cast her a particularly nasty glare; it was all Tori could do not to reach out and give him a good slap across his overly-angular jowls. 

When they got back to his place, it was clear that Trent hadn't taken the rescue very well. He yelled at her, angry, insisting that he didn't need to be saved; there was no use in keeping him around, anyway. Try as she might to ignore these statements, each one sent a stabbing pain to Tori's motionless heart. 

She loved him, as the fact of the matter was. It might not have been logical if she was living, but she felt that, as his personal savior, the affection was wholly justified. She didn't just want to save him; she was pretty sure, at this point, that she needed to do so. If not strictly for his well-being, then for hers. 

Much to her relief, it didn't seem to take him long to forgive her, at least enough for him to fall to his knees, crying as his arms had clumsily found her waist, looking for anything to steady him, offer him some stability in the midst of his life's steady shattering. 

Hoping to bring him comfort of some kind, Tori returned his embrace. 

She tried her best to assure him things would be okay, that it would all be better in the morning. 

Still, when Trent pulled away and wiped his face on his shirtsleeve, he offered one fact that she had overlooked. 

"I won't be able to sleep," he stated, his almost-monotonous speech cut off by small cracks in his voice. "What I took... it makes my heart race." 

Tori's stomach sunk. Right. That's what stimulants did. 

Trying to make the best of it, she rose to her feet. 

"Right," she said brightly, as if she had known all along and already had a plan. "Well, then, let me go get you something to drink to help calm your nerves a little. Just sit down on that couch right there. I'll be back in a jiffy." 

Wordlessly, Trent obeyed as Tori headed for the kitchen. 

After a few minutes, she reemerged, mug in hand. She pushed it into Trent's shaking hands, only for him to eye it suspiciously. "What is this?" 

Tori rolled her eyes as she seated herself next to him. "Tea, of course," she responded. "Did you really think I'd spring for coffee or alcohol, what with your condition?"

Trent didn't reply, simply lifting the mug to his lips as he continued to tremble. After quietly sipping for a while, he pulled away, casting a sidelong glance Tori's way. 

Finally, he spoke. "I'm... Sorry."

His voice seemed slightly slurred, if one listened close enough. Effects of the drugs, Tori knew. 

"I'm just..." 

He paused again, looking at her for a long while. Tori flinched slightly as he reached out towards her face, -- what was he going to do? She almost let out a sigh of relief when she found that he was only brushing a strand of hair away, keeping her eyes from being obscured from view. Still, once their gazes met, she found that the moment was almost too intimate for comfort. 

After seeming to struggle with it for a long time, Trent finally found the words to express the question that he seemed to want to ask so desperately. His hand fell away. 

"Why are you so convinced that you're gonna save me?" he asked. His voice didn't carry inflections of anger anymore, -- just confusion, and a hint of sadness. 

Nervous, Tori gulped before answering. Involuntarily, her eyes broke away from his. Instead, they traveled down to her hands as she futilely picked at her cuticle. 

"Because," she said, "you deserve to be saved."

Though her eyes weren't on him, she could imagine the frustration on Trent's face as he sighed loudly. 

When Tori looked back up, she was met with the frustration that she had been expecting. Trent scratched at the back of his neck, feverishly, compulsively.

"But why?" he pressed. "Why me? Why not somebody with cancer, or another depressed guy who has to worry about leaving kids behind, or some kid who has their whole life ahead of them? Why should you worry about me, of all people?"

There was something in both his expression and his voice that broke Tori's heart. None of those words were for show or attention. He meant it, all of it. 

For whatever reason, he didn't think he was worth the life that he had. 

God knows, she knew how that felt. 

"Trent."

Though she spoke quietly, he immediately lifted his head upon hearing his name.

She forced a smile onto her face, a false sense of comfort as she asked the question that could make or break both of them. "Do you like yourself?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "At all?"

He lowered his head once again, a curtain of dark hair falling over his face, concealing something. "No," he said. "Not particularly." 

There were so many things Tori could have done then, -- and, truthfully, she was tempted to do all of them. 

She could have just held him, let him cry. She could have grabbed ahold of him and forced his sleeve up, confirmed what she had suspected when she first arrived, only to see his bleeding hand. She could have told him that she liked him enough for the both of them. 

But she didn't do any of these things. Instead, she simply told him the truth. 

"Well," she said. "You should value yourself a lot more than that."

He looked back at her. Though he didn't say anything, she knew what he was thinking. Once again: why?

For lack of a better word, Tori was frustrated with Trent's apparent lack of self-worth. She felt sorry for him, of course, -- in fact, that was an understatement, considering how his pain made her ache. 

Still, ugly truths were in order here. 

"You need to be here," she continued, making damn sure the urgency showed in her voice. "Trust me, I know. I have reasons."

He eyed her expectantly, as if giving her a challenge. 

Tori fugured that unspoken challenge was one to accept. 

"You need to finish that album that you're working on, for one thing," she started. "Because, honey, it is going to make a big splash in the industry. The ones that come after it, too."

Though he still appeared skeptical, Trent perked up slightly at this. "Really?" 

Smiling, Tori nodded her head. "Yes," she confirmed. "After this record, babe, you'll be in hog heaven. You're gonna be hailed as a musical genius." 

Looking over at him now, she could tell that he wasn't feeling quite as downtrodden as when they had come in. In fact, he had a faraway, dreamy look in his eyes, though she wasn't quite sure if it was the result of the good news or an effect of the still-potent coke. 

Whatever the case, she hated to chase that look of near peace away with what she planned to say next. Still, it had to be done. 

Tori frowned, lowering her voice as she made her next point. "...and I also know that, if you don't stop sometime soon, it will all be over within five years."

As she had predicted, this statement brought Trent right back to reality. "Over? You mean--"

He left that sentence hanging, waiting for Tori to respond. Knowing that he already had the worst case scenario in mind, she simply nodded. 

This bit of information seemed to fill Trent with anxiety in no time flat. 

"Jesus." He took a shaky breath, reaching one shaking hand up to run through his hair, -- a nervous tic Tori had picked up on in recent days. "What am I supposed to-- How do you..." 

He chuckled, an empty sound. Fitting, considering absolutely nothing about any of this was funny. 

In the end, he just ended up staring at his guardian angel with wide green doe eyes, trying his hardest to worm his way out of this corner he had backed himself into. "You know all of this for certain?"

Tori hummed a grim confirmation in reply. "I'm one hundred percent positive."

Voice breaking, he was able to force out one more vital word. "How?"

"How will it happen?" Tori asked.

He nodded in return. 

"Well, I can't say that for sure," she said. "Possibly by the hand of the needle... or that snorting mess you were pulling back there... or maybe your own demons will overcome you, wrestle you out of your own willpower when you're too off-your-ass to care. Maybe it'll be an accident, or something done under false pretenses. Maybe you'll be all alone, or maybe, just maybe, that Brian will be there with you. Or he'd be long gone, and you'd both know that you never said goodbye." 

She paused to look at him then, to see how he was taking it. As predicted, he looked scared to death, even paler than he was before. He shook like a leaf, knees pulled up to his chest. 

Tori reached for his hand in an attempt to soften the blow a bit, to remind him that she was there to pull him out of it, regardless of whether he liked it or not. Relief filled her when he took it. 

She gave that hand a reassuring squeeze as she continued to speak. "I don't know how it would happen, but I know it'd be between now and ninety-nine," she said, her voice soft.

She held onto his hand, tighter, as if he could slip away at any moment. "And you're supposed to have a long life ahead of you, mister." 

Save for the shaky exhale that followed this exchange, neither of them said anything. They simply sat in the dark in total silence, fingers intertwined. 

After at least fifteen minutes, Trent spoke up again. "Tori?"

"Hmm?"

He kept his eyes focused on Tori, allowing her to see the drug-muddled fog from earlier seem to melt away. "You'll stay, right? If I do this, if I try to get clean... you won't just up and leave me, right?" He paused, biting at his lip until a small dot of blood surfaced. "I don't think I could take it, you know. If you went away now."

Even as her unbeating heart proceeded to do something between shattering as if it were glass and melting like candle wax, Tori took note of this moment of vulnerability, -- no doubt, an important piece of the puzzle that she was putting together to create him, a disjointed masterpiece. 

That one bit of truth, a testament to the frightened little boy that she knew still lived inside of him, underneath all the rage and insatiable needs, brought her one step closer to removing that detrimental barrier between them. 

At the moment, however, she figured she could save that for another day. After all, she had a promise to make. 

"Of course," she replied. "I'm here for the foreseeable future. No need to worry about me. In fact..." She leaned in closer to him, forcing a playful grin. "...if I were you, I wouldn't even worry about closing my eyes. 'Cause you can bet your life that I'll be here when you wake up."


	5. Chapter 5

Unrest. 

That feeling hung especially heavy in that house over the next few days, though, contrary to what one might expect, it was not due to any of the ghostly souls that still occupied the place. 

It was the sole living one, trying his best to continue about his daily life even as what seemed to be his lifeblood was taken away from him. 

Trent was lost. That was the word Tori would use to describe it as he seemed to sleepwalk about the place, stopping by the kitchen occasionally to grab a drink before returning to that room at the back of the house. There, he spent most of his waking hours, working on music that Tori could just barely hear. 

The fact that he continued his compositions was a good sign, Tori supposed.

Part of her itched to go and keep him company, let him play for her some more. After all, she'd been dying to do that since the first time, when he played her that sorrowful song on the guitar. 

Jesus, it was like watching part of his soul bleed out. Maybe he was falling apart then, testing the waters to see whether or not she could pick up the pieces. 

He underestimates me, she thought to herself, a slight grin surfacing on her face. 

She sighed, pushing the morning paper aside to cast another longing glance down the hall. There was still some sort of noise going on behind that door, even if she couldn't quite make out any of it clearly. 

As tempted as she might have been, Tori resisted the urge to go and crack open the door. 

Only if she was invited, she told herself. She wouldn't dare intrude.

Besides, if the way they had interacted, -- or not interacted, rather, -- with one another in the last few days was any indication, he wanted to be left alone, anyway. 

Wants, said that guiding voice in the back of her mind, not needs. 

Though Tori took note of the voice's words, she didn't act on that particular urge, -- at least, not yet. 

Instead, she stood and headed towards the kitchen. Feeling motivated, she flung open the refrigerator door. 

She was met with the saddest, most desolate fridge that she had ever seen. 

There was absolutely nothing in there. No food, cooked or otherwise. No takeout boxes. Not even a single piece of fruit or slice of sandwich meat. 

Just the remainder of what had once been a twelve pack of cheap beer, and two cans of Coca-Cola. 

"Lord," she muttered to herself as she shut the door, shaking her head in disbelief. "What does he eat?" 

It only took a quick once over of the cabinets and pantry to figure out the answer to that. 

Apparently, he didn't eat. 

With a slight noise of disapproval, Tori headed for the front door. 

"Well, that just won't do." 

Figuring the weather was nice enough, she closed and locked the door behind her with all intentions of taking a quick walk to the grocery store. 

As she made her way out of those grand gates towards the streets, she continued to talk to herself, finding her own company to be just as good as any. 

"So help me God," she said, "that boy will have a homemade meal."

♡

Within an hour, she returned, two large paper bags full of food in her arms. 

"Alright." She set aside the things she didn't need, which she had purchased strictly to fill the fridge and cabinets, before getting to work on the main course. 

"A nice, fat, baked chicken," she sing-songed. "My specialty." 

She hummed as she went to work, chopping vegetables and dumping in spices as if it were simply second nature. 

Between the routine of it and the fresh smell of the herbs, it was easy for her to step away from her current state of being just a bit. 

If she gave herself the time to close her eyes and carry herself away, she could be at home, on any sunny Sunday afternoon in the spring, just like this one. 

Only, in her head, she was years younger, just a girl, still in high school.

Though there were times back then when she thought she just might never smile again, she practically beamed thinking back to it now. 

As her father had so frequently told her, she had it good back then. 

She was the most musically talented girl at school, if only in the piano department. She was well-liked, soon to be the Homecoming Queen. 

She was virginal, but not quite innocent. 

Feeling the slight prickling of tears in her eyes, her emotions betraying her, she pushed the food aside for a moment, allowing her eyes to drift shut so she could imagine it. 

Lo and behold, she could see herself as she was then, still in her Sunday best as she prepared a grand supper for everyone. She could feel the sun rays shining through the window over the sink, warming the skin of her arms, hear the church kids giggle and squeal as her brother Michael threw the football around with them in the backyard, -- he was always the cool one, she remembered, older than all of the youth, but much younger than the Reverend and all of their parents. It stayed this way until he had kids of his own. 

Then, the kitchen door would swing open, -- her mother, without a doubt. She always knew this without even having to turn around, -- she'd always alert her daughter to her presence by exclaiming, in the soft, raspy voice that soon became Tori's own, "I do say, Myra Ellen, that smells delicious!"

"Oh!" Tori exclaimed her frustration a bit louder than she had intended as she wiped away the fresh tears rolling down her cheeks. 

Nervous, she turned around, making sure that she hadn't disturbed anyone or anything. Much to her relief, the door down the hall remained closed, preventing the surprise from being spoiled. 

With that, she forced a smile back onto her face, humming all of the songs that had brought her comfort back then, -- old staples by Zeppelin and Hendrix and The Beatles, with a few Doors melodies thrown in here and there because, well, she knew that her father couldn't hear. 

By the time the chicken was ready for the oven, she had graduated to her very own composition. 

"I'm walking down the road... with a jack-ass and a toad... Some would say I'm--"

She stopped singing for a moment upon feeling a hand land on her shoulder. 

She turned around, only to find that the door down the hall was still closed, and Trent wasn't there at all. 

In fact, it wasn't anyone that could simply be seen with the naked eye, -- it was more a presence, one that commanded respect. 

That being said, Tori gave her a polite bow of her head, almost a curtsey, as Trent's retriever, Maise, growled from the corner of the living room. Only when she deemed it appropriate to straighten her spine did she make her request.

"Could you please leave it be for this evening, Ms. Tate?" she asked sweetly. "I had something special in mind. I'll make it up to you, I promise."

♡

Having successfully negotiated with a ghost, she finished preparing the meal early in the evening, before the sun had even gone down all the way. Without even having tasted it yet, she was proud of herself, -- it did smell delicious, just as her mother had always told her it did. And still, despite this, Trent had not done so much as ease the door to his studio open just a crack. 

At that point, Tori figured she should take it upon herself to go get him. A prepared plate in hand, she made her way down the hall towards that door.

Knowing she couldn't be denied that way, she pushed it open without knocking. 

After all, it was unlocked. 

Even when the door was open all the way, she got no response. Hesitantly, she stepped over the threshold, trying her best not to trip over any misplaced cords or contraptions. The curtains were drawn and all the lights were off, leaving the room pitch black. 

Finally, she found the man she was looking for, sat in front of a wide array of computers. 

He didn't happen to be using any of the computers, however. 

Instead, he was slumped forward, facedown against the desk. 

If Tori was still pumping blood, it would be running cold. Automatically assuming the worst, she sat the plate off to the side before nudging him, -- and not gently, either. In fact, for a moment, she lost her usual brand of slightly-maternal gentleness completely in the midst of her panic. 

"Come on, you bastard," she said, pushing harder against his shoulder. "Get up."

Finally, much to her relief, he lifted his head, only to swat at her nonchalantly. "Go away, Tori," he said, voice clouded with sleep. "I'm sick."

She huffed out an exasperated sigh, angry at him for scaring her like that. "You aren't sick," she replied. "You're going through withdrawals, and, judging by the looks of your fridge, you're one step away from becoming an anorexic." 

He glared up at her. Even with barely any light in the room at all, Tori could see the contempt in his eyes. 

She took a deep breath, trying to collect herself. Remember, she chided herself, honey and vinegar...

With that, she smiled and tried to sweeten the deal. "I've got your dinner," she said. "A baked chicken. Smells good, doesn't it?"

"Yeah. That sounds fine." He averted his eyes from her, turning back towards his computer screen. "Just bring me up a plate..." 

Those words caused the anger to rise up inside of her again. "I am not going to bring you a plate," she shot back. She reached for his arm, tugging lightly. "You are going to come eat with me in the dining room, so I know that you don't throw it in the garbage the moment my back is turned." 

Expression still blank, Trent's eyes met hers, seemingly waiting for her to relent. Instead of doing what he wanted, she pouted. 

"I worked so hard on this meal," she whined. "I had to barter with Sharon's ghost for it." 

With a groan and a shake of his head, Trent stood up. "Fine," he said. "God. You win." 

She grinned triumphantly. "I figured you'd see it my way eventually," she said, her voice returning to its sweet, gentle melody. 

With that, she looped his arm through hers, leading him towards the kitchen as though he might get lost. 

♡

Tori was rather satisfied with herself by the time the two of them were seated across from one another at the dining room table. She was even more pleased when Trent actually ate the food, and seemed to enjoy it. 

After a while of simply dining together in silence, he spoke up, notes of slight astonishment carried in his voice. "You made this?"

Tori laughed. "Well, of course," she replied. "Do you really think I could get takeout this good?" 

He didn't respond, going back to his food. After a few more moments passed, he spoke up again. "It's been forever since I've had someone cook for me," he said. "I think I was still living at home, actually." 

"You poor baby," Tori teased. She tilted her head and pouted her lips at him, a spark of joy striking within her when he offered a slight, embarrassed laugh in reply. 

She grinned coyly, going back to scooping up vegetables with her fork. "Guess you just needed a woman here all along, huh?" she asked. "You know, this reminds me of how my dear, sweet daddy always made a big to-do about how he loved taking care of my mama... and she'd always just look at me and my big sister over her shoulder and smile. And, because I am who I am, I always knew exactly what she was thinking."

She kept laughing to herself, and, once again, she could almost believe that she was back home. Still there where they could see her. Still whole. 

Still their Myra Ellen. 

"The thing was," she continued, "my mama was the one taking care of him, most of the time. Not that Daddy didn't work.... oh, that man would work his fingers down to the bone every day of his life, for her, for us, for God. But when he got home, who licked his wounds? That's right... Mama."

Suddenly, she wasn't forcing a smile to lighten the mood; she imagined that her face looked like it did when she was that innocent little girl, watching her parents embrace in the kitchen. 

"So that's something I've always thought," she said, her eyes still closed. "Men can say what they want to about being the head of the household, but most of the time, they aren't actively 'taking care' of anything. That's usually what the ladies are doing for them."

It wasn't until Tori opened her eyes and noticed Trent looking at her with a combination of astonishment and discomfort that she realized that she had done something wrong. 

She had never said anything about when she was alive, who she was before she was his guardian angel, up until then. At that point, she had no intention to. Ever. 

Panicking, she just stared straight ahead, wondering how she'd ease herself out of this, keep him from wondering any more, let alone asking. 

Luckily, Maise did that for her, letting out a loud whine as she pawed at her master's feet. 

Silently, Tori thanked that dog as if she was a golden-furred manifestation of all things holy. 

"Don't let her fool you," she said. "I gave her some as soon as it had cooled. She had a whole plate, greedy little thing."

With that, Maise turned her attention away from her favorite human towards the near-stranger on the other end of the table, wagging her tail until it created a slow, steady rhythm against the hardwood floor. 

Testing the waters, Tori looked her directly in the eyes. Do you know what I'm trying to do? 

Of course, she didn't get any mental transmission in return. Just a slight growl as she turned away, going back to salivating over table scraps and steadily wagging her tail.


	6. Chapter 6

Brian had called several times. 

Trent knew it; since he had first become interested in the band, he had practically had Brian's number memorized. 

Since the night with the party and the coke, he had been screening any calls that came from that number. And still, they kept on going.

He probably thinks that I'm dead, Trent thought somewhat bitterly as it popped up for what must have been the millionth time. 

Even if that was what was going on in Brian's head, he apparently hadn't given up hope yet. 

Sighing, Trent looked towards the closed door of his studio and picked up the phone. There was no way Tori would notice; she was on the other side of that door, safe from him and his endless screwing up. 

Because of this, he figured there wouldn't be any major harm in picking up. If things got uncomfortable, he could just hang up, right?

"Hello?" he answered, making sure to keep his voice as neutral as possible.

No letting on that anything is different, he told himself. Anything that goes on between Tori and I isn't anything that he deserves to know about. 

"Jesus Christ. You're alive."

Trent rolled his eyes, smirking to himself. He had always known that he and Brian knew each other quite well. 

"Of course I am," he replied easily. "Just because I don't pick up for a day or two doesn't mean you should start planning my damned funeral."

Brian scoffed on the other line. "Bold of you to assume I'd throw you a funeral." 

"Asshole."

"Bitch-face."

This sort of exchange wasn't anything out of the ordinary for the two of them. In fact, Trent found it rather amusing, a comforting return to the norm. 

That jovial feeling faded away when he realized Brian wasn't laughing along with him. 

"You still there?" he asked. 

"Would you care if I wasn't?"

Trent frowned. So, Brian was being bitchy. 

Maybe answering was a mistake. 

"What crawled up your ass and died?" he asked quietly. 

"I hadn't seen or heard from you in days," Brian quickly reiterated. "I don't know if you've forgotten, but I'm not the actual Antichrist. I have feelings, too. So, when you toss me and my band aside for some random, redheaded bitch--" 

A flash of anger shot through him then, -- and for all the wrong reasons. He bit his tongue, trying to control his temper, -- it seemed his fuse had gotten even shorter over the past few days. 

"Don't call her that," he muttered. 

Regardless of how quietly he must have said that, Brian had undoubtedly heard it. He paused for a moment before sighing loudly. 

"Whatever," he said. "Just... that shit hurts, you know? The fact that my boss, -- who I consider my best friend, -- would just up and leave without even bothering to get back in touch with me afterwards. All because of some girl he's fu--"

"That's not right," Trent interrupted. 

"What isn't?" Trent could see Brian spitting out those words, full of venom. He knew that on the few occasions when Brian wanted to hurt someone, he had plenty of venom to spare. 

Despite any petty squabbles that they might have had, (and one almost-fist-fight with the entire band, but that destroyed bass had been Scott's problem, really,) he had never been on the receiving end of this particular kind of poison before. 

He didn't know how to deal with it. 

He cleared his throat before clarifying just what he had meant. "Me and Tori," he said. "We don't... we're not... We're just friends." 

Brian snorted. "Yeah," he replied lightly. "Apparently much better friends than you and I are. But we're just business partners, right?"

Despite the anger still boiling within him, those words caused Trent to recoil as if he had been slapped. It stung. 

It also gave him the keen feeling that he just might have been the bad guy here. 

"Brian..." he tried, only no decent words followed. 

Why couldn't he think of anything useful to say? How could he fix this, without admitting the truth?

Oh, yeah, that would go well. 

My new female friend that I am totally not sleeping with saw us doing a line together and informed me that you were a bad influence. Oh, and she also told me that if I didn't stop now, I'd be dead in five years. Turns out she's a clairvoyant. 

If he said that, Brian would just come over and kick his ass. When he put it that way, even mentally, Trent figured there was probably something in the midst of all those words that would warrant a good ass-kicking. 

His internal argument with himself was interrupted by a distorted yell from somewhere on Brian's end. He assumed that another instrument-smashing fest was occurring for a moment before Brian spoke again. 

"Hold on!" he shouted at the other unknown party, close enough to the speaker to hurt Trent's ears. After a moment, he attended to the current call once more. 

"Sorry about that," he said, sounding overly-formal in a way that made Trent want to hunt him down and wring his neck. "Jeordie just finished something we've been trying to work out for days. I've gotta go listen to it." He paused, causing Trent to believe that he had hung up, just before he got in his final snide words. "You should come listen to it, too, at some point."

"Yeah," Trent replied, although at this point he was only halfway aware of what was going on. "Maybe."

His blood was rushing in his ears, and the onset of that truly unbearable feeling was overtaking him. His hand that wasn't holding the phone shook; the skin of his arms itched, like he wanted to rip it off. 

He was getting to that point again. The point where nothing felt right at all, and the only seemingly productive thing to do was explode. 

He couldn't do that, however... at least, not now. So he forced himself to be civil, seemingly calm, even when his insides were contorting into the most sickening type of whirlwind. 

"Well, Brian," he said. "Thanks for checking on me. I'll talk to you soon?"

He hated that the last part sounded like a question, though he guessed that was really what it was. 

"Yeah." Brian's voice was so flat, so emotionless, that it made him sad more than it pissed him off. "Maybe."

With that, the mechanical hum of a dropped call replaced his friend's voice, and he was all alone. Again. 

Trent sat the phone down and ran a shaking hand through his hair, trying to keep his breathing under the control. 

He tried his best to convince his body that he wasn't upset, his brain to move away from some coked-out jackass and back towards what was important: work. 

His own work. Not anyone else's. 

Yet, this vessel that he had been dealing with for so long still wouldn't listen to him. 

Truth was, the simple act of talking to Brian made him crave a fix. Whether this was correlation or causation, he wasn't sure.

He just knew that that wasn't truly what he needed. Not really. 

With this thought in mind, he got up from his seat and headed out of the studio, down the hallway. 

Just as he had hoped, Tori wasn't hard to find. 

She was sitting on the sofa, Maise asleep at her feet, both of them illuminated by sunlight. He could keep that studio as dark as he wanted to, counting on the fact that she'd have every window in the rest of the house in, as if they were flowers that needed that light in order to grow and change. 

From afar, she looked to be in the running for the title Most Peaceful Person on Earth, the slowly dying daylight drifting through the window over her, seeming to cast the illusion of a golden halo above her head. 

The beautiful serenity of that moment made Trent want to stop where he was, careful not to disturb her, ruin her peace. 

When he resisted this urge and came closer to her, however, he realized that all of it might have just been some strange sort of mirage. From this angle, she didn't look as peaceful as she did melancholic. Shameful as it was, this provided him with a sense of relief, -- regardless of what they were, he knew that she had things that made her sad, too. 

She still smiled at him when her eyes drifted all the way open, though.

"Good evening, my dear." She yawned, stretching her pair of pale, willowy arms over her head. "I was hoping I'd see you sometime soon. Want something to eat?" 

He shook his head as he sat down beside her. "Not hungry."

She cast a stern glance his way. "You're never hungry." 

Once she seemed to take note of his expression, she dropped the issue. 

"Oh, no." She sighed, reaching over to gently place a hand against the side of his face. "What's with the stormy look?" 

Trent didn't reply for a moment, surprising himself by leaning into her touch. He didn't mind her physically affectionate nature so much anymore; in fact, it was sort of nice. 

"Nothing much," he finally replied. "Just tired." He shut his eyes for a moment, trying to drift away from all of it. 

When he couldn't do that, he laughed quietly, bitterly. "Damned Brian," he muttered. 

"We're not going to worry about him." Tori said this decisively as she pulled away, a look of determination on her face. 

"You have much better things to think about," she continued brightly. "Like your music. And..." She stopped and giggled, her eyes lighting up. 

"Your birthday is this coming Monday!" she chirped. "Twenty-eight! Do you feel old yet?"

He couldn't help but offer a half-assed grin at her enthusiasm. "Sometimes." 

She smiled at him, sympathy flashing in her eyes. 

For the second time in an hour, someone else's mannerisms sent a physical pain through him.

Oh my God, he thought. She knows everything. 

He was startled by the sudden feeling of her fingers tangling with his, followed by a reassuring squeeze. 

"The sun's setting," she told him, her voice even softer than usual. "Maybe we should go catch it."

♡

Ever since he had moved into this place, Trent hadn't spent hardly any time outside. When he did, however, it didn't take him long to become awed at how stunning it was. 

Up there, he could easily believe that he was on top of the world. How could he not, when everything was so far below him?

If he allowed himself to be fanciful, revisit the make-believe games he played when he was just a lonely child, he could easily believe that he was the king of something, looking down on something that he could control with his voice alone. 

And by his side stood his all-knowing queen, made even more impossibly beautiful by the shades of scarlet from the sunset, reflected in her wild, flaming hair. 

He didn't know which would be best to look at: the sky, the ground, or her. 

He decided it was the sunset; after all, it was what she had beckoned him out here to see. 

As soon as that great star had vanished beyond the horizon, however, he was quick to look her way, watching as the violet and blush hues made her seem truly cherubic. 

It wasn't until she swiped the back of her hand beneath one cerulean eye that he realized that she was crying. 

Not saying anything, he made the first move for once. 

Wrapping an arm around her waist, he pulled her against his side, just as she had told him her father had done to her mother, somewhere in the past. She returned the gesture, holding onto him as if she were afraid he'd vanish otherwise. 

"Another day, gone," she whispered to him. "We'll never be able to stop it, will we?" 

He contemplated this as he helped to brush the tears from her cheeks. 

In the end, he could only counter it with a question of his own. 

"Why the hell would we want to?"


	7. Chapter 7

There was seldom a morning when Trent woke up feeling well-rested.

Most of the time, getting out of bed seemed like a chore. Whether this was a symptom of his faulty brain's lack of serotonin or just another side-effect of being so damn busy all the time, he wasn't certain. 

All he knew was that, for whatever reason, he was usually tired from the time his eyes first opened.

For this very reason, his first inclination upon being awoken by a sudden flash of bright sunlight was to roll over and bury his face in his pillow, groaning loudly.

That definitely wasn't his preferred approach to starting the day. Yet, when he figured out just who had pulled the curtain aside, he didn't mind quite as much. Everything was just a little better when Tori did it. 

"Good morning, birthday boy!" the aforementioned angel chirped. Trent felt the bed settle as she landed beside him. Still, he didn't turn back over. Not yet. 

Of course, it didn't take Tori very long to make a move to shove him. He couldn't help but smile, amused by her impatience. Hell, her urgency to get the most out of each and every passing day almost made him believe that he was a fun person to be around. 

"Come on, rise and shine," she said. "You have a big day ahead of you."

Finally, he moved onto his side, managing to playfully catch her by the wrist along the way. Tori yelped in surprise as he found himself on top of her, practically pinning her down. He smirked down at her, cocky. 

"Really?" he asked. "Because I had plans to sleep it away." 

Tori didn't say anything for a moment. She just stared up at him, her eyes almost seeming to go blank. He had only seen that look from her once: at the dinner table the week before, when she had mentioned her family.

It scared him, almost making him believe that she had gone someplace else for a moment. 

When her eyes looked that way, it was easy for him to remember that, at some point, she had died. 

Pulling away slightly, he gently placed a hand against her arm.

Come back to me, please.

"Tori?" 

She jumped slightly as the light gradually returned to her eyes. Thank God. 

Still, Trent kept his eyes on her for just a moment longer. "Are you alri--"

"Fine," she interrupted, voice curt, almost snappy. It was enough to make him recoil, leaving an ample amount of room for her to slip out from under him.

Promptly, she did just that. 

Once she was free, she smiled at him over her shoulder as if nothing had happened at all. 

"You aren't going to sleep the day away," she started, her usual joyous tone returning, "because I have taken the liberty of planning everything necessary to make this the best damn birthday you have ever had. So rise and shine." 

Attempting to shake off their previous awkward exchange, he chuckled as he sat up and stretched out his limbs, enjoying the warmth of the early morning sun more than he would like to admit. "How do you know that I haven't already had a spectacular birthday at some point that you could never top, no matter how hard you tried?"

"Because when it comes to the subject of birthdays in general, you remain disturbingly mum." She stood up and headed for the door. In his still-drowsy state, Trent found her slow, easy stride to be somewhat hypnotic. 

"It's going to be fantastic," she went on. "I have it all laid out. Presents, cake, a special outing... the whole shebang."

Lazily, he smiled. "I can't wait." 

She turned back towards him before she shut the door behind her. The affectionate smile that graced her pretty lips made it clear that there were no hard feelings between the two of them. "Of course you can't."

♡

After he had woken up a bit and made himself presentable, Trent wandered into the kitchen, only to find Tori finishing up preparations for breakfast. 

She whirled around to face him, already with a plate in hand. She pushed it towards him, obviously rather proud of herself. "Here's the first of the three well-rounded meals you will be having today."

He chose to ignore her harping on his eating habits, turning towards the counter, where her choice ingredients still sat. "Where are you even finding organic, cage-free, farm-fresh eggs?" he inquired. 

She rolled her eyes before beginning work on her own plate. "From a farm, dumbass."

"Funny." He pulled out a chair at the table and sat down, one leg crossed sideways over the other. "I didn't think you were capable of using expletives that aren't in the Good Book." 

She chuckled lightly. "If I didn't sin, I wouldn't be an angel. I'd be a saint." Having finished loading up her plate, she settled across from him. "Also, if you get the inside scoop on guardian angel business, you'll soon find that the Good Book has quite little bearing on it."

"Mmm... interesting." He took a hearty forkful from the meticulously-made omelet, causing the eyes of the woman across from him to gleam. "Unfortunately, I have no intentions of getting into that angel business any time soon..."

"Good," Tori replied quickly. "You shouldn't." She paused, gazing at him with a strange sort of emotion in her eyes. Something between pride and fear. 

"Twenty-eight's a good age," she said quietly. "Old enough to have learned quite a bit, but hardly anything in the eyes of those who are old and gray."

He vaguely thought that he heard those notes of sadness in her voice again, but the latter part of her sentence had carried him away from the current moment. 

Grandma Clara. He should call her later on in the day. 

God, he missed her. The fact that she was still out there in cornfield-Nowhereland made him feel worse about moving to LA than anything else did. 

She was the one who had taught him to make music in the first place, and he had ended up using it as a tool to abandon her, moving somewhere all the way across the country where she'd only hear from him every other week. 

Between the time he was five and one day exactly a decade ago, she had made him a special breakfast on his birthday, too. 

Despite what he might have said earlier, those were the only happy birthdays he had ever had. 

"So," Tori said, bringing him back to the present moment. "I've already got your present wrapped. So maybe... after breakfast?"

He smiled at her efforts as he continued to cut up his omelet. "Sounds great."

♡

When they had finished eating, the two of them sat down in the middle of the living room floor. Maise watched somewhere off to the side, eyeing their interactions curiously. 

Tori slid a box about as big as she was to Trent from across the floor. "It's not a whole gift, I know," she chattered nervously as he began to tear aside the green wrapping paper, "but I figured it was something that you'd like, and I noticed you didn't have one so... it might keep you within my sight a lot more..." 

"Tori." The grin that spread across Trent's face as he opened the turntable in its box was the most genuine smile he had given anyone in months. "I love it."

Tori smiled back, obviously anxious. "You really do?"

"I really do." He held his arms out, beckoning her to come closer to him. "C'mere." 

Tori obliged, readily allowing him to nearly crush her in the most passionate hug he had given anyone since the last time he ended up in Mercer, finally getting to see his family again.

Tori sighed contentedly, pressing a kiss to his cheek once they pulled away from one another. "I didn't know which records you'd want," she continued. "So I figured we'd go to the store and pick some out this afternoon. My treat."

"That sounds excellent." He stood back up, heading towards where his shoes sat by the door. "We should probably go now, while I'm still feeling kind of spry." 

"That perked you right up, didn't it?" Tori laughed, a lovely sound. "Alright, then. I guess we should get to that."

♡

Over the course of the afternoon, they wandered around the largest local record store that they could find, picking up the things that suited their individual fancies and pointing out the albums that they already loved to one another. 

After they racked up a rather impressive total there, they headed for one of the few restaurants that suited Tori's rather sensitive palate. 

"I can tell the waitresses it's your birthday, if you want," she had muttered to Trent from across the table. "Have them send you out a free dessert. Maybe they'll sing you "Happy Birthday." " 

She turned back in the direction of one of the waitresses that lingered in the corner, seeming to keep an eye on their table. Not entirely subtly, she nodded towards her. 

"I think she likes you," she said. The pinched expression on her face suggested that she wasn't entirely pleased about that. "Maybe if I had them bring you out your birthday dessert, she'd bring it to you on a shiny little plate." She stirred her iced tea around with her straw, smiling slyly to herself. "Put it down in front of you. Get her boobs all in your face." 

Embarrassed, Trent chuckled quietly. "I think I'll pass." 

Tori scoffed. "What kind of man are you?" she asked. "You're missing out on a terrific, honest opportunity." Without warning, she stood up, wildly waving her hand. "Oh, waitress! We have a birthday over here!" 

After having a small bowl of ice cream, (and no boobs in his face,) Trent went along with his companion back to Cielo Drive, where she began making preparations for a special birthday dessert of her own. 

"Don't worry about me," she assured him. "I can whip up a perfectly good cake in no time. You go do whatever you want, -- return a few calls, or maybe listen to an album or two. Or try to preoccupy this beautiful little monster over here." She motioned towards Maise, standing beside her. The look of affection in Tori's eyes betrayed the disdain of her words. "She's kind of underfoot."

Despite the fact that he knew the latter two options would appease her more, Trent headed back to his studio for just a bit, -- only to check his voicemail, he told himself. 

Reasonably few people had bothered to call him. His grandmother, as predicted, which sent another pang of guilt through him. His elusive sister, who only called when one of these few important dates rolled around, but maintained vehemently that she was "really proud of" him. Robin, Chris, Alan, and Flood. 

And finally, the one voice he hadn't expected but couldn't help but hope to hear -- Brian. 

"Hey, jackass," he had began, -- only this time, it sounded like a term of endearment. "Just wanted to congratulate you on not dying this year." 

He cringed at that part. 

"Anyhow," Brian continued, as if they were really having a multi-sided conversation. "I'm sorry if I've pissed you off, -- whatever I did to do that. And, not to distract from your special day or anything, but the album's really coming along, -- I think you'll be proud of it. Come get your hands in it sometime soon, -- we all know it wouldn't be half as good without you." 

He couldn't tell if that last line before the phone was dropped had been filled with bitterness or earnestness, but, today, he could almost make himself believe that he didn't care. 

It was his birthday, after all. 

♡

Even if it was just a white, vanilla cake, it was still one of the best cakes he had ever put in his mouth. 

Before she would even offer to cut into it, however, Tori insisted that Trent blow out the candles. He didn't have time to count them in relation to his age when she sat the cake down in front of him, chanting breathily in his ear to make a wish, make a wish, make a wish. 

He closed his eyes and obliged. 

I guess I'd like to finish the album and make it decent. Oh, and-- He opened his eyes, allowing them to shift towards Tori as that last bit of flame flickered, putting up a fight. 

If she ever leaves me behind, please let my life always feel as if she were still in it. 

The final candle died. Quietly, Tori clapped, carefully slicing the perfectly round sweet with a rather sharp knife. 

As an old favorite Bowie record played softly in the background, the two of them shared birthday cake and bittersweet near-silence. Outside, the sky had gone bruise-purple, signaling the end of the day. 

Three-hundred-sixty-four days to go before he'd have a day all his own again, for no reason at all.

Tori watched him, admiration tangling with that sadness in her eyes that he so despised. 

"Twenty-eight," she repeated. "That's a pretty good age."


	8. Chapter 8

It was pathetic. 

The smallest feather, pure white, save for the murky-looking black around the edges, tied neatly with a string at the top. 

It didn't even look vaguely authentic, Tori thought, continuing to examine the thing with great disdain, almost disgust. So why the hell had she bought it for him?

This is the closest thing, unfortunately, she reminded herself. The best I can do to remind him of me when I'm gone without tearing myself apart all over again. 

Despite the truth behind this dreadful tidbit of information, she still wondered if she should even bother giving it to him. 

Maybe the fact that she had forgotten it yesterday was a sign. Perhaps it wouldn't do either of them any good at all; it would just be another thing for him to toss aside, then ask questions about. 

Her stomach sank at the thought of having to elaborate on that particular part of the agreement. 

It was going to be hell; she didn't want to have to leave him behind, ever.

From what she had seen over the past few days, she had realized that he most likely didn't want her to leave, either; he could be childlike sometimes, damn near helpless, but scared to death to admit his dependence. 

There was something else, too. Something in the way that they looked at one another that even eluded her. 

Without meaning to, she'd find her eyes meeting his when the room was quiet. If she had been lost in her own unhappy thoughts, as she so frequently was, he'd somehow manage to pull her out, a soft expression of earnest sadness on his face. 

Something in his expression screamed I understand. 

Maybe he did. 

She wasn't sure if that idea was more comforting or frightening.

Dark clouds. That's what the inside of her brain probably looked like. 

Trying to pull herself out of it, she turned towards the window she had just cracked open, the ghost of a warm breeze flitting by as the daylight really began to shine through, the whole world seeming to be painted a brilliant, beautiful gold.

It was enough to make her breathe a sigh of relief, -- she was here for now. She'd been blessed with the start of yet another sunny day, by his side. 

Suddenly, she heard footsteps approaching her from behind, the slight sound of Maise following at his heels coming along with them.

Speak of the devil. 

She smiled, looking over her shoulder, away from the tea she had sat on the stove to boil. "Morning," she began, voice still hoarse from sleep, soft, girlish. 

Trent grinned back as he walked past her. "Morning." He settled at the kitchen table, stretching his limbs out in front of him. Maise settled at the foot of his chair, though she kept her eyes on Tori the entire time. 

Once the tea had come to a boil, Tori turned off the stove, slipped on her mitt, and headed towards the table with the kettle. "How did you sleep?" she inquired. "Pleasant dreams?"

"As pleasant as they've been since you first got here," he replied.

Much to her dismay, those words left butterflies fluttering in Tori's stomach. They shouldn't have, really, -- it was a simple statement, and quite possibly an accurate one. 

That was what for guardian angels were meant for, after all, -- chasing all the bad things away. 

It didn't mean anything special, she told herself. Not really. 

Hoping to hush her brain, which was humming with an exceptional amount of anxiety, Tori filled two coffee mugs to the brim with hot tea. 

She emptied two small spoons of sugar into her own cup, quickly stirring before leaving it alone. As for Trent's, she loaded it up with all the fixings, -- despite all of the emphasis he put on his intense, intimidating persona, she had found that, unless she filled it with sugar and cream, Trent would barely touch the tea she'd prepare. 

Once she'd stirred the drink enough to create a small whirlpool of cream, she slid the mug over to him. "Here you go, my dear." 

After examining it cautiously for a bit, Trent took a long sip of the tea. "Thanks." 

She smiled, pushing a stack of newspapers off to the side before standing up again, off to make breakfast. 

As she started to take what she needed from the newly-stocked refrigerator, (all her doing, of course,) she attempted to start up a pleasant dialogue between the two of them, -- something to distract her from her new antsy state. 

"So... What's on the agenda for you today?" she inquired. She tapped the egg she was holding against the edge of the frying pan, only for it to split in half perfectly. Pleased, she dropped the sunny yellow yolk into the sizzling pan. 

"I'm thinking I'll get back to work on the album," Trent replied quickly. 

Considering her back was turned to him, Tori took this as an opportunity for an eye roll. 

"Why am I not surprised?" she countered, her voice dry. 

"No, seriously!" he replied quickly. "I'm going to get some stuff done. Like, 'one step closer to finishing it' done." 

He paused for a bit, only to pick up where he left off with a bit of persuasion. "I might even let you listen to some of the recordings..." 

Regardless of any complaints she might have had about Trent's workaholic tendencies, those words certainly piqued Tori's interest. 

She smiled to herself as she reached for the open bag of French bread on the counter. "Well... I certainly like the sound of that." 

"I figured that you would." 

Shaking her head at the smugness in her companion's voice, Tori worked to finish preparing the dish in front of her. 

Within a short amount of time, she was scraping the bread into two places, with a hearty amount of maple syrup poured on top of each helping. 

Trent looked on with an expression of awestruck confusion as she carried the plates back to the table. "Jesus, -- what did you make this time?" 

"French toast," Tori replied proudly, sitting a plate in front of him. "Careful, -- it's still pretty hot. Oh, and messy, -- we're gonna need more napkins..." 

While she went off in search of napkins, Trent poked at the toast with his fork as if he was unsure it was safe to consume. 

"French toast..." he muttered to himself before lifting his head again to watch Tori retrieve the extra napkins she had been looking for. 

Once she came back to the table with them, he asked her a half-teasing question. "You really do know how to make everything, don't you?"

Flattered, she flashed him a bright smile. "Just about," she responded as she took a seat. "Variety is the spice of life, you know, -- and it just might be the thing that finally makes you eat well." 

Before her not-so-subtle jab at his eating habits could be countered, she dug her fork into the French toast. As soon as the warm bite of soft, syrupy goodness met her tongue, she let out a moan of satisfaction. 

She looked across the table, only to see Trent eyeing her with something like disgust, arms crossed in front of his chest. 

She swallowed the bite before digging the fork back into the toast. "What?" she scoffed. "I'm not even putting on. It's that good." 

Determined as ever, she reached across the table, nudging Trent's plate towards him. "Come on, -- eat! There's a little taste of heaven right there, honey. Right in front of you." 

Although she already had great faith in her persuasion skills, she decided she could afford to resort to pouting, too. "Good Lord," she whined. "You are just breaking my heart." 

At that, Trent sighed, shaking his head. "Okay, okay, -- I had all intentions of eating it anyway, God--"

Tori grinned smugly as he picked up his fork. That grin quickly faded to a frown, however, when he quickly dropped the silverware again. 

"Listen," he began, green eyes serious. "I swear, I will eat this whole plate of French toast in two bites, -- because it really does smell fucking delicious, -- but only if you promise me that you won't make that noise again."

Of course, Tori couldn't reply to such a request with anything but a giggle, considering she knew exactly what noise he was talking about. 

"Why?" she asked. "Are you embarrassed?" 

"No!" Trent replied quickly. Despite the speed at which he came to his own defense, the sudden red tint rising in his face was unmistakable. "I just... Don't quite feel like seeing you reenact When Harry Met Sally today." 

Tori simply chuckled slightly in reply before taking another bite of her French toast. 

She paused upon hearing another noise, as Trent had so eloquently put it earlier, -- but not from her own lips. 

She smiled slyly as she looked up, only to see Trent clap a hand over his mouth. 

"I'm sorry," he said. "It's just... Holy shit, you weren't kidding. This is deliciou-"

Tori's laugh cut off his apology. "Alright, Meg Ryan," she said. 

The two of them simply stared at each other in awkward silence for all of five seconds before bursting into a shared fit of hysterical laughter, both of them clutching at their stomachs. 

The laughter only came to a halt with the sound of a fork clattering to the floor. 

Both Trent and Tori looked down towards the floor in unison, only to see a forkful of sticky toast lying on the ground as Maise licked the fork clean. 

"Dammit." Trent sighed. "I was really enjoying that." 

Tori stood up, heading back towards the silverware drawer.

"So I heard," she deadpanned. 

🖤

After he and Tori had managed to polish off every last bit of French toast, Trent made good on his earlier statement and went off to his studio. Of course, that meant that Tori saw very little of him for the rest of the day. 

By the time he emerged again, Tori had set the table for their third and final meal of the day. 

Tori's face lit up upon seeing him. "Good evening, sweetheart!" she said, placing a dish of macaroni and cheese on a placemat. "How is the recording coming along?"

"Good." Trent pulled out a chair for himself, taking a seat. Loyal as ever, Maise came to lie down on the floor beside him, tail wagging fervently. "Finished recording one track. Started production on another." 

"Excellent!" She sat down across from him, beginning to work on her plate. As soon as she began to ladle gravy on top of her chicken, Maise returned to her feet, rounding the table to watch her intently. 

Trent chuckled as he watched the dog drop her head into Tori's lap. 

"What's up with that?" he asked, motioning towards the dog. "I've had her since she was a baby, and now it seems you're the favorite." He looked back up at her. "Is it because you've officially earned the title of 'food giver' around here?" 

Tori smiled down at the retriever just before picking off a bite of chicken and dropping it. "Not... Necessarily." She watched with affection in her eyes as the dog scarfed down the sliver of meat.

"It's an angel thing. Animals like us." She cast another admiring glance over her shoulder, this time at Trent. "Just like they like most good people." 

"Huh." Trent picked at his food for a bit before finally breaking the silence again.

"I'm going to tell you something," he began. "But you're not gonna like it." 

Tori stopped eating, eyeing him with concern. Despite the dreadful sense deep within her, insisting that she didn't want to know, she urged him on. 

"Go ahead," she said quietly. 

Trent sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. "While I was working... Brian called," he said. "He's almost finished with his own music, and he really wants me to hear it." 

He looked back up at Tori, green eyes full of something that somehow looked like both hope and wariness. "I know you don't want me around him, but... I kind of feel like I should--"

"No," Tori cut him off calmly. "Invite him over."

Trent's words came to a halt as his mouth dropped open. "Excuse me?" 

"Yeah. Invite him over," Tori repeated. "I figure after that stunt I pulled at that party, we ought to be formally introduced, anyhow." 

At those words, Trent seemed to visibly relax, shoulders slumping as his facial expression turned to one of genuine relief.

"Thank you so much, Tori," he said. "I'll have to keep him on his best behavior, but Jesus-- you have no clue how much easier this makes things for me."

"That's what I'm here for, darling," she replied warmly. "That is what I'm here for."


End file.
